


In Hindsight

by nanasekei



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (actually he's tony's therapist), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Tony Stark, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony-centric, yinsen is a good bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 02:19:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15596076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: Tony Stark knows very well how he screwed things up with Steve Rogers. He remembers it. Perfectly....Doesn't he?





	In Hindsight

**Author's Note:**

> A few warnings:
> 
> -Mentions of past alcohol abuse/alcoholism. I did do some research for this, but I'm by no means an expert in alcoholism, so please take any depictions with a grain of salt.
> 
> -There are allusions to something that strongly resembles dub-con/sexual assault. Nothing bad actually happened, though (see end notes for more details).
> 
> -What else? Uh, mentions of Sam/Bucky? Also, Tony is really mean to himself here. So, warning for Tony being Tony, I guess.

In hindsight, Tony should have seen it coming.

To be fair, he had thought about it. Hell, the first thing he had done, as soon as he arrived, was to look around the place, running his gaze through all the people gathered to make sure he wouldn’t run into… Well, exactly the person he’s looking at.

“Tony?” Steve Fucking Grant Rogers asks, eyes incredibly blue and wide against his. “Is that you?”

Tony runs several possible answers on his head, from “ _Nope, sorry, you’re mistaking me for someone else.”_ to just shouting, “ _Look, behind you!”_ and running away in the opposite direction. He can’t avoid looking at Steve, though, to take in his dark-blue dress shirt and the way his hair is combed back, and it’s just not fair that, after all this time, Tony has to deal with a dressed up Steve like this, with no warning. Not fair at all.

Steve blinks, his _ridiculous_ eyelashes fluttering in a way Tony is pretty sure should be outlawed, and Tony remembers that, technically, he asked him a question.

“Uh. Yeah. I’m – I’m me. Hi.”

Steve takes a step forward, and Tony feels his back press against the bathroom door because, apparently, his body didn’t get the memo that running away isn’t an option. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

 _‘Course not_ , Tony thinks. _Otherwise you wouldn’t have shown._

“Yeah, it was kind of… Kind of a last minute thing, really.” Tony looks around, desperate for something to focus on other than Steve’s eyes. “So, hm, that’s a really cool apartment, huh? Ok, no, scratch that, this place is fucking hideous, but there’s a charm to it, kind of a new-age millennial thing if you look at the-“

Steve laughs, seeming a bit disbelieving, and although Tony’s mouth is definitely still moving and making sounds, he has no idea what he’s saying anymore.

“So, yeah, I guess I’m – I’m going over there. Oh, I see Bruce, hi, Bruce!” Tony says, taking advantage of the fact that Steve can’t see over the heads of everyone around them to realize he’s waving at nothing. Steve seems taken aback, but Tony is already running away. “Bye!”

“It was nice to see you.” Tony can hear Steve saying behind him. It’s a miracle he doesn’t trip, because his heart takes such a leap in his chest he feels actually dizzy. He wants to turn around, to drink in the sight of Steve right next to him, to get lost on the way his eyes sparkle and the slightest bit of pale skin peaks under his unbuttoned collar.

 _Yeah, because that worked so well last time, right?_ He thinks, and doesn’t turn back.

* * *

 “Tony? Tony?”

Tony snaps back into reality, looking at Yinsen in front of him, holding a jar. “What? I mean. Yes.” He tries, and Yinsen raises an eyebrow at him.

“So you _do_ want honey for your tea? That’s a first.” Yinsen smirks as he pours Tony a mug. “If I recall correctly, you called the idea ‘a creative form of torture’ the last three times I offered.”

Shit. Tony must make a face, because Yinsen chuckles before handing him the mug, warm with a delicious smell.

He thinks of refusing it just to be annoying, but ends up taking it, because he’s been seeing Yinsen for a full year now, and he knows the spoiled brat act doesn’t fly with him. He knows because he tried, for the entire first month, desperate to see when the man would decide even the fat paychecks Tony’s dad was giving him wasn’t worth wasting an hour of his life every week. Contrary to every other personal therapist Tony had ever seen in his life, though, Yinsen hadn’t cracked. Instead, he remained calm and patient, and seemed amused by Tony’s rambling. He never attempted to redirect the conversation – or at least Tony _thought_ he didn’t, by the third consecutive week they’d spent discussing robotics, until he caught himself talking about Dum-e and his most recent upgrade for Jarvis.

Not that Yinsen never asks questions. He does, but Tony was never the type to stay silent in therapy. He usually babbled endlessly, leaving experienced professionals staring at him wide-eyed as they tried to process what he had just said.

Yinsen, however, can keep up with him. That’s… Rare, not just with therapists but with people in general, and, well. It’s not like Tony is ever in a position to refuse friends. Even if they’re paid for.

“So,” Yinsen starts, mixing his tea with a spoon. “I’ll forgive your lack of attention if you tell me how the party was.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Really? How do you even know I showed up?” He sighs. “Fine, fine. Does Harvard knows you used your mind-reading powers to get that doctorate?” The corner of Yinsen’s mouth twists up in a smile, but he stills stares expectantly. “Ok, I went.”

“How was Sam?”

“Fine. He and Barnes are going steady now, apparently.” He takes a sip of his tea. It really tastes great. Yinsen is a sneaky bastard.

“Did you talk much?”

“A little, yeah. He didn’t- I mean, he asked how I was, but he didn’t, you know. Push it.” _Didn’t make it sound like he was dying to hear what rich kids rehab was like_ , Tony thinks. “Sam’s a nice guy.” He admits, shrugging.

Yinsen smiles. “Did Rhodey manage to show up?”

“Nope. Carol’s folks held him up all night.” There’s a second of silence, where Yinsen just stares without saying a word with a smug expression. Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I managed to survive without him.”

“And you didn’t try to throw yourself out of the window at the first – what did you say? Uno round?”

“No. Turns out Uno is kind of fun when Natasha is playing and crushing people. Ok, ok, fine,” He adds, at Yinsen’s inquiring look. “I played a few rounds. It was not as lame as I thought it would be.” Yinsen’s smile grows, and Tony smiles a little back, shaking his head. “You were right, ok? Didn’t slip, didn’t think about slipping. It was – it was nice.”

Yinsen takes a sip of his tea. “What time did you leave?”

“Uh.” Tony shifts on his seat. “Around nine, I think.”

“Early.”

“Yeah. It was right before they cut the cake. I ate some sandwiches, went to the bathroom, ran into Steve, and left. So, yeah, great party. You were totally right, I should do this more often, it’s really important for my personal gro-“

“Who’s Steve?”

 _Shit shit shit._ “No one.” Tony says, only for his genius brain to remind him that that sounds ten times more suspicious than if he’d just given a throwaway answer, so he tries to backtrack. “He’s a friend of Sam’s.” There, the perfectly innocent answer, something not even Yinsen could find hidden meaning in. Now, just stop talking, he tells himself, before, of course, failing. “He, uh, he hanged out in the apartment a few times.”

Yinsen frowns. “I thought one of the perks of having Sam as a roommate was that he didn’t have any… How did you put it? _Non-feathered_ friends to bring in.”

“That’s true, he had all his social gatherings in the roof with the pigeons, it worked out great.” Tony says, and, yeah, now’s the perfect time to change the subject, there’s no need to say anything else about… “But Steve, I mean, it’s not like he takes up much space. Plus, he cooked, helped with the dishes, it was like having an occasional asthmatic maid.” _There, great, just shut up, stop talking-_ “He… He was the one who called Rhodey.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, during which Tony considers chewing out his own tongue and wonders if he’d be less inclined to babble things he shouldn’t say in sign language.

“You’ve never mentioned him.” Yinsen says, finally, and Tony focuses on his hands on his lap.

“Didn’t think I needed to.” He lies through his teeth, clutching his fingers nervously. “It was just a phone call.” He lies some more, because, no, it wasn’t. He remembers. Hell, how could he ever forget.

( _It took him three tries to get the door to open. Tony swore loudly. He should never have answered Ty’s call. Now he was walking into the goddamn empty apartment after two days of unimpressive sex and expensive drinks, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had showered. He thought of the feel of Ty’s mouth on him, how he had gripped his blonde hair and pretended it was lighter, closing his own eyes to imagine bright blue eyes looking up at him_ _as he pushed his hips forward.)_

Tony takes a sharp breath. _Nope, nope, not thinking about that._

Yinsen takes another sip of his tea. “Must’ve been awkward.”

“What? No, no, absolutely not. I mean, we just. Talked. And. Awkward? Why would it be awkward?”

Yinsen raises one eyebrow at him. “Because the last time you saw each other, you were getting alcohol poisoning?”

Oh. Oh, yeah, there was that.

Tony almost sighs in relief at the proof that Yinsen isn’t _actually_ a mind-reader. “Technically, I didn’t get into a coma until several hours after he left. Far as he knew, I was sleeping like a baby and not at all ready to drink anything else.” He gestures flippantly. “Not like the internet hasn’t seen me in way worse scenarios.”

“True.” Yinsen says, and, although his eyes still seem intrigued, he mercifully changes the subject.

* * *

 

Ok, so, truth time: Tony thought about making a move on Steve Rogers since the first time he saw him.

In his defense, Steve had looked unfairly adorable, standing awkwardly in the living room waiting for Sam to get ready, jumping startled when he saw Tony laid on the couch. His hair was all floppy and blonde, there was a hint of a flush on his ears, and Tony thought: _Oh, cute._

Still, that wasn’t enough to risk the potential trouble of hooking up with his roommate's best friend. Besides, the guy had _saving myself for the honeymoon_ practically written on his forehead. Tony strongly suspected that dating Steve would include too much, you know, actual _dating,_ and not nearly enough of finding out how long he could fuck Steve’s brains out until he forgot about noise-making laws and screamed Tony’s name. And while that was a nice image – a very, very nice image –Tony was absolutely not willing to put up with the inevitable months of movies and dinners and baseball games that would take for them to get to that point.

Then, next week, Steve showed up covered in sweat with messy hair and a bloodied lip, and Tony thought: _Oh, hot._ And that was slightly more troubling, because as Tony listened to the story of how Brock Rumlow tried to stick his hand up a girl’s skirt that morning, he had trouble hiding his own very sudden and very apparent interest in justice. Fortunately, Sam kept his title as the best roommate ever by pretending Tony hadn’t ogled his best friend too obviously.

Then there were the pancakes. Which, yeah, that was when the real problem started creeping up. Steve crashed at their place after Sam dragged him to a party nearby – Tony almost went just for the idea of the sight of Steve at a social gathering, but he had a much cooler party with much more alcohol to attend. In the morning, Tony woke up with the world’s worst hangover, and, for a moment, he thought he was delirious when he heard a whistle coming from the kitchen, only to walk on Steve making breakfast like a housewife from the 40s or something.

“Honey, you didn’t have to.” He had quipped, startling Steve, who dropped the – thankfully already empty – pan on the floor.

 _That_ moment, when Steve stumbled over other utensils to catch the pan and then turned towards him, his shirt slightly stained with syrup, face flushed at his clumsiness, to give Tony a sheepish smile, is forever marked in Tony’s brain as the moment he thought: _Oh, shit._

It was all downhill from there.

Tony found himself looking for excuses to stay in the living room anytime Steve came over, shamelessly barging in on his talks with Sam. He was, apparently, unable to keep his mouth shut when Steve was around. The first few times, Steve seemed uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly on his seat as he frowned a little at Tony’s incessant vomit of words, occasionally nodding or answering succinctly. Tony… Well, Tony was used to people pretending to listen to him, so he didn’t take it personally, really. It was just… How things were.

Then, a week later, Sam got sick, and Steve dropped by to visit, and, right when he was about to leave, stopped for a moment, as if thinking, turned around, and asked: “Did it work?”

“What?” Tony had said, doing his best to pretend he hadn’t been staring fixatedly at Steve’s ass as he made his way to the door.

“Your project. The, uh. The A.I. thing?”

Tony blinked, swallowed, and tried very hard not to acknowledge the apparent conga line his heart had started on his chest. “Oh. Yeah. I mean, I still need to run a few more tests, but it worked nicely – great numbers, good connection, not a lot of explosions. Looking great so far.”

The last words made Steve’s eyebrows raise, and he grinned and went to sit next to Tony. “Explosions?” He had said, blue eyes sparkling as he stared in his direction, like there was _nothing_ more interesting than Tony’s ridiculous adventures trying to create a copy of his dead butler while slightly buzzed at four A.M.

That day they talked a lot, and Steve actually talked _back_ , posture relaxing as he asked questions. Tony somehow ended up telling him about Jarvis the person, about his death, about how he came up with songs about math equations to tuck Tony into bed every night when he was eight. Then Steve told him a story about his mother and the mini theater plays she came up with to entertain a ten-years-old who couldn’t get out of bed and play with other children at least twice a month. They talked and it was awkward but nice, nerve wrecking but great, and it felt… Right, in a way Tony hadn’t expected. Steve had leaned back on the couch, arms around his stomach as he tried his best to suppress his laugh to avoid waking Sam up, and Tony felt his breath catch and his heart rush.

Then the hours passed, and when Steve finally left because otherwise he’d miss the last bus, Tony went to his room and thought of – of baseball games. He pulled out his phone and googled when the next big one would be, how much one had to pay to get to meet the players afterwards, and, as a final detail, the rules of baseball. He was halfway through understanding a homerun when he fell asleep.

Then, the next morning, Howard Stark called. He wanted to make sure Tony remembered the gala they’d have that night, and that Happy was going to show up to pick him up at eight, and Tony better not be late this time, and that he hoped Tony would have the sense to not talk anyone ears’ off about that fun little adventure of pretending to be an adult. Tony felt his face warm with shame but said that, you know, most people would say living on his own was a very adult thing to do, to which Howard had promptly and coldly replied: “With your father’s credit card? The height of independence, indeed.”

Tony went to the gala on time, and, as soon as he left, he texted Maya Hansen, went straight to her apartment and spent three days doing nothing other than drinking, smoking and fucking.

He was still a litle drunk when he got home to and found Sam, Steve, Barnes and Clint Barton eating pizza at the kitchen.

“He lives!” Clint had said, raising his slice to him as a greeting. Tony just grunted and moved to search for some coffee.

“What are you all doing here anyway?” He asked, taking a sip straight from the pot.

Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Celebrating, man.”

“Celebrating what?” Shit, that coffee was awful. He coughed a little before knocking back the rest. “Don’t tell me you finally started growing wings.”

Truth be told, it wasn’t one of Tony’s best jokes, but the awkward silence that followed seemed to be a bit much.

“My exhibit.” Steve said. Tony stared at him and immediately felt the beginning of a headache, because his bangs were falling a bit over his eyes and it felt like staring straight at the sun. “At Peggy’s gallery?” Steve seemed incredibly uncomfortable. “I, uh. I invited you on facebook.”

Tony took his phone out so fast he almost dropped it. _No fucking way-_ And, yes, there it was, among a ton of notifications he hadn’t bothered to check and messages from Rhodey, Pepper and some guy who Tony was almost sure was supposed to be his new thesis advisor: _Steve Rogers has invited you to…_

“It’s okay.” Steve said, and the forced smile on his face hit Tony like a punch to the stomach. “It, it wasn’t, I mean, it was just a last-time replacement. It wasn’t a big event or anything.”

“Plus,” Clint grinned from the table. “You were _very_ busy.”

A flash went through Tony’s mind, a memory of being on Maya’s bed, laughing his ass off as she made a shot for him to lick off her belly, and pulling out his phone and deciding that was exactly the kind of thing Instagram stories were invented for.

Steve shifted awkwardly on the same place. Tony felt like throwing up.

He managed to mumble something about a shower and take off to his room, desperate not to let anyone see his eyes were burning. He sat on the bed and watched the videos, the terrible selfies, the way his shirtless torso and the straps of Maya’s bra left little to no doubt of what they had been doing.

Then he went on Steve’s account – Steve never posted anything, but there was a new story. It was a short video where he could hear Sam talking in an exaggerated speaker voice and calling Steve the new Monet, as Steve rolled his eyes to the camera and asked for his phone back. He looked exasperated but happy, slightly swallowed by a polo shirt one size too big. He looked beautiful, Tony thought, and that was when his chest felt tight, and it suddenly dawned on him that no google search would ever be enough to turn the self-centered, shallow fuck up he was into someone who could ever make Steve happy like that.

That was the moment when it ended.

Or so Tony had thought.

* * *

 

Tony comes out of his therapy session very determined to not think about Steve Rogers.

For a few hours, as he works on his latest project, he does just fine. Really, he doesn’t think of Steve that much, nowadays – he was just caught by surprise on a party he didn’t even want to go to. So, at the end of the day, it had been all Yinsen’s fault.

Then, when Tony finally stops working to go to the bathroom, he checks his phone and. Well.

Now it’s Sam’s fault, he guesses.

 _Sam Wilson mentioned you in a comment,_ his notifications feed says, and, though Tony knows – _knows_ , damnit – that he shouldn’t, he clicks it.

And there it is: A super cheesy birthday picture, with all the guests, Sam at the center, Barnes’ arm around his waist, and, oh, hey, Steve, how have you been.

With monumental effort, Tony takes his eyes off the picture, going to the end of the page to see Sam’s comment:

_@Tony Stark owes me a piece of cake for leaving too early_

He almost smiles, and then he notices the one thumbs up right bellow it, and he hovers over it and –yup, yeah, _Steve Rogers liked this._

Tony tells himself that – God, he shouldn’t even have to tell himself _anything_ , for fuck’s sake, it’s just a like on a facebook comment, it doesn’t mean shit. Steve is exactly the type of person to like everyone’s comment on pictures he’s in anyway, just because he doesn’t know how to reply to them properly. Tony takes a look at the other comments – Natasha sarcastically complimenting Sam’s bird-shaped cake, Rhodey saying he wished he had been able to make it, Clint referencing some obscure meme Tony can’t even begin to understand. And, yeah, there it is, in every single comment, Steve Rogers’ thumbs up of approval.

It doesn’t mean anything, Tony reminds himself. He hadn’t seen Steve in – well, two years, actually. He hadn’t seen him since the night of the fateful phone call. The weekend that had started with a text from Ty and ended with Happy opening the door of the car for the juvenile rehab center that Tony would go to spend the next twelve months.

_(“Tony?” A voice came from the doorway – a low, raspy voice Tony could recognize anywhere, and how good it sounded saying his name, really. “Are you okay?”)_

Tony shakes his head, determined to not get into _that_ line of thought again, when he realizes that he should probably answer Sam’s comment.

 _I’ll get you a nice sack of birdseeds_ , he types.

A moment later, his phone vibrates, and Tony, like an idiot, grabs it immediately to search for Steve’s name on his notifications, but it’s just Sam.

 _I’m serious, man, you owe me lunch_ , the comment says. Tony hovers over it – _James Rhodes and Natasha Romanoff liked this_.

Tony wants to take a moment to respond, but, in the next minute – seriously, don’t any of these people have jobs -, he’s in a group text with Rhodey and Sam.

_hey tones_

_so we’re having lunch with Sam next Tuesday_

Tony raises an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. _Sorry, why does Sam gains a capitalization and I don’t?_

Rhodey, who has known him for too long to care about his bullshit, ignores him, sending him a location and a time instead.

There’s a nervous feeling in Tony’s stomach, for a moment – an impulse to say he can’t make it, he has a thing, maybe another day – but he can honestly _hear_ Yinsen on his head, sardonically commenting _“You know, it’s nice to see people instead of robots, sometimes”._ So he just shrugs and puts the phone away.

* * *

“It does sound like something I’d say.”

Tony snaps his fingers. “Right? I’ve literally got your voice in my head now. Brainwashing complete.”

Yinsen smirks. “My job here is done.”

There’s a moment of silence, which of course Tony breaks. “So. Did we run out of things to talk about? Should we move onto sports instead? Are more of a football or golf person? You seem like a golf person.”

“I hate golf with a passion.” Yinsen says, and it sounds so honest Tony snorts a laugh. “So, lunch with Sam and Rhodey, huh? Just the three of you?”

Tony scoffs. He feels a mix of anger and self-satisfaction for finally catching Yinsen in some manipulative bullshit. “Yeah, just the three of us, geez. Just because I bumped into the guy once it doesn’t mean we’re going to be going on lunch dates together. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you dropped it.”

Yinsen’s eyes are comically wide as he stares at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on. You’re sitting here with your friendly act, playing mind games, trying to get to me to talk about…”

“…Sam’s boyfriend?” Yinsen is still looking at him in shock, but there’s a hint of amusement now. “You said his name was Barnes and you didn’t get along very well? And I wondered if maybe he’d be there for your lunch?” He asks, opening a downright incredulous smile. “Somehow I get the feeling you were thinking of someone else.”

Oh.

Tony feels his face flushing. He considers denying, but, well, now it’s a lost battle. He buries his face in his hands.

“Ok, ok, fine. I…” He takes a deep breath. “I _may_ have thought you were going to ask about Steve.”

“Well, _now_ I will.” Yinsen smiles. “You can start by telling me who he is.”

“I told you, he’s-“

“Sam’s friend.” Yinsen says, dark eyes clearly spelling out _Your father doesn’t pay me enough to handle this level of bullshit._ “Who, unlike any other of Sam’s friends, hanged out in your apartment. Sometimes. Who, coincidentally, happened to be around a few hours before you got deeply serious alcohol poisoning, and, from what you’ve told me, made the phone call that most likely saved your life.”

Tony shifts a little, but doesn’t look away. It never gets easy, exactly, the whole _I could have really died_ thing. Back then, when he’d woken up to Rhodey’s desperate face in the hospital, it had felt almost surreal, to see the tears running down his face. It took him three whole months to be able to even say it aloud.

“Despite that, you had never mentioned him to anyone during two years of treatment. Instead, you ran into him a week ago, and, for some reason, he’s clearly been in your mind ever since.” Yinsen ducks his head slightly, still staring at Tony deeply, but with a softer expression. “Was it something he said?” As Tony stares at his hands, he presses further: “Any inconvenient questions? Jokes?”

Tony almost snorts. “God, no. No, no way. He’d never...” He clutches his fingers together. “He’s. He’s not like that.”

“Hm.” Yinsen says, sounding more intrigued. “And how is he like?”

Suddenly, Tony thinks of the day where Steve, who had just left to go back to his place, barged into the living room almost marching, face flushed, lips pressed together in a thin line. Tony and Sam just stared at him while Steve let them know some guy in a motorcycle thought it was funny to yell out his opinion about the weight of the woman selling candy at the sidewalk. Steve crossed his arms furiously, because, obviously, hearing an insult right back wasn’t enough punishment for this level of assholery, and then flushed deeper and softly said he needed money for the bus, because he had spent his every cent buying off the woman’s stock.

 _Do you guys want it?_ He had asked, taking three large boxes off his backpack. He didn’t even eat anything, being allergic to half of the ingredients. He just sat there glaring at the tv as if it had deeply wronged him, finally letting out a small smile and a weak chuckle when Tony’s ramble about owls managed to get Sam to flip him off.

“He’s perfect.”

Yinsen’s eyebrows hit the ceiling.

“…Ionist. Uh. Perfectionist. I mean. Yeah, he’s a perfectionist. Wants everything done correctly all the times, boy, aren’t those people annoying?” Yinsen just stares at him in shocked amusement, and Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s. It’s not what it seems.”

“I don’t know what it seems, Tony.” Yinsen’s smile is gentle, but his voice is definitely entertained. “But you have a staggeringly large vocabulary, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you describe anyone as “perfect”.”

“Look, you… You don’t know him, ok? It’s really not a big deal, it’s – it’s just, like, a thing he is. Like a physical trait. It’s like saying he’s blonde.”

“ _Really._ ” Yinsen takes a sip of his tea, still seeming like he’s just gotten a new Christmas gift. “Ok. So. What did he say? When you ran into him at the party?”

Tony clutches his fingers tighter. “He said it was nice to see me. I… I might have – hm, bolted a little, after I saw him. Didn’t give him much chance to speak.”

Yinsen’s eyes are attentive and careful, and Tony hates it. “And why was that?”

“I don’t know.” Tony lies blatantly, eyes firmly on his hands. “He… He liked Sam’s comment. When he, uh, when he tagged me on the picture.”

“I’m definitely too old to understand the implications of that without context, Tony.”

Despite the nerves, Tony snorts. “There aren’t any. It’s just that… He’s kind of an old man with social media. He’s had the same profile picture for, like, three years. His Instagram has a grand total of five posts, and I’m pretty sure he only made one because Barnes and Sam pushed him to. He’s not, um, not exactly a sociable guy.” He pauses. “Not like me.”

“But he liked when Sam tagged you.”

Tony blinks.

“Well. Yeah. But that doesn’t – I mean, it was definitely coincidence. He probably just saw it and felt that he had to like it or something. He’s – he’s that kind of person, you know?”

Yinsen lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Tony, I don’t. You had never mentioned him before. I don’t know anything about this kid other than the fact that he’s blonde and – apparently – _perfect._ ”

“He’s… He’s good, ok?” Tony blurts out, because, well, it’s true, and he has been feeding Yinsen enough bullshit on the past hour. “Like, honest-to-god good, the type of guy who ends up without money because he gave his last change to the homeless. That sounds incredibly lame, like he’s a boy scout or something, but it’s _literally_ it, he’s just… Good, and, and, kind and shit. He’s awkward as hell, he doesn’t know how to talk to others, but he’s got that – that _noble_ thing, you know? He’s like, like a goddamn knight out of a fairy tale or something.”

As usual, it’s only after he finishes babbling that it starts to dawn on him what he actually said. He thinks Yinsen is going to laugh, but he just smiles.

“You sound quite fond of him.” He says, and Tony hates how those words echo in the room, because it makes him think of Steve’s hair brushed back and his smile when he said Tony’s name and _baseball._ “Were you two…?”

There it is, the million-dollar question. “No. No way.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.”

“Why not?”

Tony presses his lips together, hands clutching each other again without realizing it. It’s hard to make the words come out.

“Because he’s too good for me.” He says, and it feels terribly heavy, to finally put the truth out there like that. “He’s. He’s always been.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Why?” Yinsen asks.

_Because, when he was juggling two jobs and a scholarship to try to study, I was meeting up with my thesis advisor with a champagne hangover. Because the minute good old Dad looked at me the wrong way, I disappeared for days and fucked a girl I didn’t even like while completely ignoring something important to him. Because I was thinking about him while fucking her and wasn’t brave enough to tell either of them. Because he’s a great person and I’m me. Because-_

_(“Fuck, look at you.” Tony growled, approaching at fast steps. Steve backed away a bit, but Tony’s eyes were at the base of his neck, his collarbone, too evident on a shirt that was two sizes too large. In a second, Tony’s hands were on his waist, feeling the warmth of Steve’s skin through the fabric, and fuck, they weren’t close enough. “You’re so fucking hot.” He pulled him closer, bringing their bodies together. He lift a hand to go through Steve’s hair, feeling the dampness, and, God, he could smell the faint scent of shampoo from the curve of his neck. “’Want you. ‘Could show you everything, babe, make it so good.” He inhaled and felt a shiver down his body, thinking of Steve’s skin flushing, licking his lips, thinking of how good it would feel to cover that collarbone in kisses and marks._

_But Steve squirmed against him, saying something Tony couldn’t quite make it, and his voice was strangled and nervous and God, Tony wanted to hear him like that all the time, all flustered and breathless because of him and no one else. He tightened his grip around Steve’s waist, taking a step forward, pressing Steve against the wall. “Could make you scream my name, make you beg for it.” He whispered - fuck, those jeans were tight, and Steve could definitely feel him there, from the delicious gasping noise he let out. Tony caressed his hair again, basking on the faint smell of shampoo, before turning his head slightly and seeing Steve’s face, all golden and pink and God, that mouth-)_

“I fucked up.” He says, finally. “I fucked everything up.”

* * *

 

Lunch with Sam and Rhodey turns out to be pretty easy. They talk a lot about Sam’s new internship, the latest season of Doctor Who, Rhodey’s girlfriend, and a ton of other topics that aren’t related to how Tony spent the past two years. It’s fun, and, as usual, Tony regrets not believing Yinsen when he said he would feel better if he didn’t try to reschedule it.

(Yinsen, as the saint he is, didn’t push Tony to tell the full story about Steve, when he said he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He just changed the topic smoothly, because, well, he’s paid to deal with Tony’s crap anyway.)

By the end of lunch, Rhodey has to leave early, which makes Tony a little nervous. Sam is ok, but he is still getting used to hanging out with people other than his best friend and his therapist without the help of a beer bottle.

“Sure you don’t want a ride? Happy should be here in five minutes.”

“Thanks, man, but there’s no need.” Sam says, typing something on his phone. “I’m supposed to meet someone anyway.” He lands a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “It was good to see you. Next time I’ll demand my birdseeds, though.”

“I’ll get them delivered to your apartment.” They walk to the front of the restaurant, and Sam is looking at his phone again. “Sorry for, uh, for bolting out that day at the party. I… I had a thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just try to show up to stuff more often. James misses arguing with you.”

Tony smiles. Sam really is a great guy. “Yeah, I-“

“Hey!” A panting, _unmistakable_ voice comes from the sidewalk, making Tony’s heart stop on his chest. “There you are.”

Sam says something, but Tony doesn’t hear, because there it is, Steve Fucking Grant Rogers, in the flesh, staring at Tony with bright blue eyes, for the second time in less than two weeks.

“Hey.” Steve says again, softly, peering at Tony, and it’s as if the goddamn world shifts beneath his feet or something.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Sam, who might be the worst person Tony’s ever met, gracefully escapes the awkwardness, leaving Tony and Steve staring at each other in the sidewalk.

Steve’s face is flushed, and he breathes strongly for a moment, enough that Tony almost worries for his lungs before he’s clearly composed. Then he shifts nervously in the same place, and Tony realizes he’s just been staring at him in silence.

“Oh. Hi.” He manages, and Steve gives him a small smile.

“Sorry.” He says, blue eyes looking away, glancing at the street. “Sam didn’t tell me you were gonna be here.”

Tony feels his heart sink. _Of course he didn’t,_ he thinks. It’s exactly like the party – Steve wouldn’t ever want to see him by _choice._

“It’s okay.” Tony blurts out, although he doesn’t know what is Steve apologizing for, exactly – for not wanting to see him? For being caught by surprise? “I didn’t know you’d be here either.” He adds, because it occurs to him that he must seem like the world’s creepiest stalker, conveniently hanging out with Steve’s best friend in the hopes of getting access to him again.

“Oh. I guess we’re both clueless then.” Steve says, with a short laugh. Steve has kind of a weird laugh, the type of laugh that comes out awkwardly because he’s not letting it be as loud as it should be. Tony remembers that laugh – how it echoed in the apartment and made his heart fell full and heavy on his chest. It’s weird and fantastic and Tony would give anything to hear it again.

“Yeah.” Tony mumbles, looking away, because it’s too much, to think of this now.

“You look good.” Steve says, startling him. “I meant to tell you at the party, but you, I mean, you kind of…”

“Ran away?” Tony says without thinking. “Yeah, you know how it is, the life of an ex-drunk. People to see, A.A. meetings to attend, tearful interviews to give for Netflix documentaries, everything. Very busy.”

Steve nods, lips curled as if he’s trying to hold back a grin, and – _nope, nope, don’t look at his lips_. “I suppose staying for the cake would be too much.” He rocks a little on the same spot again, and his bangs fall slightly over his forehead. Irrationally, Tony’s hand itches to brush them back, so he forces himself to look away, rolling his eyes.

“Sam said the same thing. Honestly, what is it with birthday cakes anyway? Why can’t we have birthday pies? Birthday cookies? Birthday pizzas? Am I the only one brave enough to ask these questions?” Steve lets out that short laugh again, and Tony really shouldn’t keep rambling, but fuck if it isn’t the best thing he’s heard all day. “Also, how come you are asking me this? There isn’t a single bakery in this town with enough menu replacements to make a cake you’d actually be able to eat.”

“Bucky made it.” Steve says, hand going out of his pocket to brush his hair back. His fingers have ink marks and, against all reason, that small detail makes Tony’s heart flutter.

Then he realizes what Steve actually said. “Wait. _Barnes_ made that cake? That cheesy, horrifying, bird-shaped cake?”

Steve’s mouth curls again, not that Tony is staring. “It was supposed to be a falcon.”

“That cheesy, horrifying, looked-way-more-like-an-owl-than-a-falcon cake?”

And there it is: That full, loud laugh, that makes Steve’s cheeks flush slightly and Tony’s I.Q. drop fifty points. “On Bucky’s defense, I feel obligated to say that it did taste well.”

“Well. They do say inner beauty is everything, I guess.” He eyes Steve’s amused, happy face. It’s actually painful, how much he wants more of that, how he’d say any stupid shit imaginable to get Steve to laugh like that with him again. “Which part did you eat? Because I don’t believe you had the courage to taste that face, friendly loyalty notwithstanding.”

“I ate the entire right wing.” Steve says, then pauses. “Wait. That sounds wrong.”

“Or like a noble sacrifice for the country, depending on the perspective.”

“I. Ok, I’d actually do that if I could.” Tony laughs, because, yeah, he totally would, and Steve grins. “Honestly, I think I ate more than anyone. Sam even told me to take the leftovers. There’s some of the falcon’s butt still on my fridge.”

Tony will forever blame the insanity of his next statement on the adorable cheeky smile on Steve’s face when he said _butt_.

“We should eat it.”

The way Steve’s eyes widen bring him back abruptly to reality. “What?”

 _Shit. Shit shit shit, what were you thinking?_ “I mean. Because you said it’s nice. So I guess, I mean, someone should eat it.” _Yeah, keep digging that hole, it’s working out fine, did you really just invite yourself to his house?_ “And because we’re both here, I assume, the pronoun just popped into my head, you know how these things are. _We_ can mean a ton of things, of course, it can mean you and me, or Sam and me, or Barnes torturing me while forcing me to eat the leftovers of his monstrosity-“

“I.” Steve interrupts, and Tony desperately wishes there was a bus coming by so he could throw himself in front of it to not hear the incredibly awkward inevitable- “I think it would be great.”

…Rejection. Wait.

“You. What?”

Steve puts his hands back at his pockets, and his flush deepens, but he still stares at Tony, as if he’s suddenly very determined to say this. “We should have the cake. I. I promise you’re going to like it.”

The earnestness with which Steve says it – as if the taste of the cake is actually a concern, as if Tony wouldn’t happily stuff his face with toxic garbage for the chance to hang out around him again – makes something inside Tony swell and melt at the same time.

“I guess I will.”

“Ok.” Steve says.

“Ok.” Tony says, and Steve’s smile is so bright, that, by the time they’ve finished exchanging numbers, Tony is still dizzy from it, almost tripping on his way to meet Happy.

* * *

 

Tony taps his fingers on the chair.

On the deafening silence of Yinsen’s office, the sound really echoes, and Tony does his best to focus on it and not on Yinsen’s patient and inquiring expression.

“So,” He says, gently. “Should we talk sports?”

Tony sighs.

“No. I – it’s okay.” He clutches his fingers together on his lap, still not looking forward. “So, to recap, in case you’re a bit tired of pretending to listen to this cheap-ass drama: I ran into Steve two weeks ago, it has been tormenting me ever since, and then I happened to run into him again, and there was something about falcon cake butts – God, Barnes really needs to work on his cooking, I swear I wouldn’t have guessed it was meant to be a falcon if my life depended on it – and I apparently asked him out? I mean, I invited myself to go eat cake at his place, so, technically, I guess I invited myself in, but. Anyway. Now we’re meeting tomorrow.”

Yinsen nods, as if no part of Tony’s ramble comes off as a surprise to him.

“And why do you want to talk about it?”

Tony’s eyes widen, but he supposes it’s part of Yinsen’s job, to pretend he doesn’t see the obvious sometimes. “I need your help to cancel it. And I know, I know, you’re never in favor of cancelling it, your goal in life is apparently to turn me into the most reliable person ever –boy, are my parents not paying you nearly enough for _that -,_ but that’s because you don’t know the larger context in here that perfectly explains why cancelling it would be, by a mile, the most sensible thing I’ve done in the past month.”

Yinsen raises an eyebrow. “Would it?”

Tony swallows. “Look. You’re biased, ok, you’ve only got my side of the story, you don’t understand-“

“Don’t I?” Yinsen asks. “What I’ve managed to gather about this kid, so far, is that he’s a nice person, he helped you when you needed, and, although you feel like you’ve screwed everything up for some reason, he’s still willing to talk to you.” He pauses for a second, then adds: “Also, you’re completely gone for him.”

Tony feels his face flush. Well, he supposes the time for denial is over.

“I guess.”

“So help me understand: Why is it a bad thing to go out with a boy you have feelings for? Or better yet: What happened that night?”

Tony takes a deep breath. He wants to say he doesn’t want to talk about it – he knows Yinsen won’t push it, he never does – but at the same time, it feels important, to acknowledge it out loud.

“I got back from Ty’s place. It was around seven, I think. Sam was at Barnes’. Steve was there to pick up some books or something, I’m not sure. And. I mean, you know most of the story. I was completely wasted.”

“But he did manage to get you to go to bed, right?” Yinsen doesn’t pick up his file to ask, of course, because he knows it by heart. “You didn’t start drinking again until later in the night.”

Tony swallows. “Yeah. When I arrived, I was just... You know when you get drunk, I mean - you have been drunk before, haven’t you? It’s like, everything that’s terrible becomes harmless, and everything that’s just ok becomes amazing.” He pauses, because regardless of whether Yinsen knows, he remembers. He doesn’t miss it, but he remembers. “And I walked into the apartment and he – he had showered, I think? It was pouring outside, maybe he got wet and needed to exchange clothes, I don’t know. But he was, like, just out of the shower, and I think he borrowed one of Sam’s shirts, because it was too big for him.” Tony presses his lips together. “He was just… There, and suddenly he seemed totally… Reachable.”

Yinsen nods. “You made a move on him.”, he says. It’s not a question.

Tony scoffs, running one hand over his face. “I _assaulted_ him.”

The words echo between them for a second.

“Yeah.” Tony looks away, because he really can’t face Yinsen’s expression right now. “I don’t know, I guess, I just looked at him and thought – oh, this could totally fucking happen, why haven’t I done this before? And then I pretty much jumped him. Pushed him against a wall and everything. Kissed him.” He adds, after a moment, and he hates he can still easily feel it now, Steve’s soft, warm mouth open in shock against his own. “Then he managed to get me off him, and that was when I started throwing up. He put me in bed, and, again, you know the rest.” He shifts a little, uncomfortable. “I woke up an hour later, picked up the bottles I kept under my bed, and proceeded to drink until I got unconscious.”

For a moment, nobody says anything. Tony can’t look at Yinsen, so he just stares at the floor. The images are a bit blurred, but it’s impossible not to remember, not to think of how it must have been for Steve, who hated feeling helpless. How _grossed out_ he must have been, Tony thought, his stomach twisting. He couldn’t even remember if he had showered at Ty’s place, God, he must’ve been smelling…

“So,” Yinsen’s voice cuts through the silence, bringing Tony back to reality. “Steve called Rhodey. But he wasn’t there when Rhodey arrived?”

“Nope. He went home. He… He has this big old dog who can’t stay away from him too long. Abandonment issues or something.” Tony says, choosing very deliberately not to remember one of the few pictures Steve has on his Instagram, with the big dog’s head on his lap, drooling happily, the day Steve got him from the shelter.

“And now you’re going out with him. And you want me to help you cancel it.” Yinsen ducks his head. “Why?”

“What-What do you mean, why? I told you. I fucked up so bad, I don’t even…”” He keeps his gaze fixated on his hands. It was so Steve, to still give him the time of the day after everything. To not tell Tony to fuck off when he invited himself to his home, as if they could just hang out normally – God, that must have freaked him out, Tony thinks. He can easily see it, Steve shifting awkwardly in the sidewalk, too polite to turn him down, probably desperately looking for a reason to gently refuse and not managing to find it-

“Why did Sam go to the bathroom?”

Tony blinks.

“Uh. What?”

“Sam. After you got out of lunch. He clearly planned to get out of the way for you two to talk.” Yinsen says, calmly. “Why would he set his best friend up to meet with the guy who assaulted him?”

“I. I don’t know? Maybe Steve didn’t tell him.”

“Right. Even though they’re best friends, and Steve presumably tells him everything.” Yinsen deadpans. “Why did Steve talk to you at the party?”

“What?” Tony asks, because that’s apparently his favorite word now.

“At Sam’s party. You bumped into him, and he talked to you. Why? Wouldn’t he have every reason in the world to want to avoid you instead?”

Tony opens his mouth to answer, but for a moment, no sound comes out. He stutters a little, before composing himself.

“Look, you – You don’t have to do this. I get what you’re doing, you always do that, and I get, you get a good paycheck for it, but-“

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Yinsen interrupts, and Tony is so shocked he fails to understand it immediately. “That I’m paid to listen to you. You always bring it up.”

Tony just looks at him.

“It’s not just with me, either.” Yinsen continues, as if he never expected Tony to respond in the first place. “Sam invited you to his birthday because he’s a nice guy. Rhodey hangs out with you because you’ve known each other for so long. Steve is, apparently, aiming to be canonized, inviting you to eat cake at his house even though you attacked him.” He pauses again, studying the effect of his words. “You’re very good at coming up with external reasons people have to tolerate you. Anything to not think they might just genuinely like you and want you around.”

“Where the hell are you going with this?” Tony asks, suddenly defensive.

“You’re one of my best patients.” Yinsen says, voice blunt and honest, and Tony can only stare at him, startled. “You take your recovery very seriously. You never miss a session. You _never_ stop talking.” The corners of his mouth twist up in a smile. “Yet, you act like you’re some irreparably broken basket case, and I’m deserving of a Nobel prize just for sitting here and taking your problems seriously for one hour per week.” He takes a moment before continuing, his usually unreadable dark eyes twinkling with unmistakable fondness. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m good – but I’m not _that_ good.”

Yinsen’s words seem to spin around Tony’s head, making him feel dizzy. “What are you saying? I’m not as much as a fuck-up as I could have been?”

“What I _am_ saying is that you have a tendency to judge yourself too harshly, and to think about your feelings as if they were a burden to everyone else. And, maybe, if you allowed yourself to show what you’re feeling to others, you’ll find out they see it differently. Something you think is a burden or an inconvenience could actually be something important and great.”

The thought is foreign to Tony, as if Yinsen is suddenly speaking in a different language, but it still makes his chest tighten.

“I’m talking, of course, about your feelings for Steve.” Yinsen continues, casual as if he’s discussing the weather. “Who I don’t believe for a second you’ve actually assaulted, by the way. You don’t have to agree with me,” He adds, since Tony opens his mouth to interrupt. “But maybe, just maybe, you could ask him about it. If it turns out you did cross a boundary, you can always apologize, and we’ll deal with it later.”

Tony’s heart rushes. It’s a lot to process, Yinsen’s words, but there’s a dangerous spark of hope inside him, and he has to fight the reflex to repress it.

The words jump out of his lips before he can think too long about it: “And if I didn’t?”

Yinsen smiles. “You’ll figure it out.”

* * *

 

By the time he arrives at Steve’s apartment, Tony has already rehearsed what he’s going to say ten times in his head.

Of course, the moment Steve opens the door, he immediately forgets all of it.

“Hi.” He says instead, hands on the pockets of his jacket.

“Hi.” Steve greets, moving inside and gesturing for him to follow him. “Glad Happy was able to find the directions.”

“Well, we just had to look for the most charming bohemian artsy neighborhood.” Tony says. “Please warn me before you break out in a rendition of _Seasons of Love.”_

Steve laughs, but there’s a tinge of nervousness, and Tony can’t really blame him, because he feels it too. He follows Steve into the apartment. It’s actually an average place, small with a few pieces of decorations that Tony suspects were made by Steve himself. When they arrive at the kitchen (which is really just the counter and a freezer at the corner of the living room) Steve turns to look at him, and Tony feels his breath catch, the tension weighting the air around them.

Fortunately, that’s when Steve’s dog decides to make his appearance. He runs towards Tony, who immediately tries to back away to avoid getting tackled. The dog is huge, way bigger than he seemed in the picture, but he just sniffs Tony’s shoes, suspicious.

“Shh, Bilbo.” Steve says, petting the head of the animal. “Tony’s a friend.”

The combination of Steve casually throwing this phrase around and the discovery that Steve thought _Bilbo_ would be a fitting name for that monster who probably weighs more than he does is enough to make something melt inside Tony’s chest.

“I do feel obligated to ask if you usually walk him or he walks you.” Tony quips, and he worries Steve is going to take offense, but he smiles.

“He’s almost nine years old.” He says, scratching Bilbo’s ear. “He tires easy.”

And, just like that, Tony can see clearly: Steve at the animal shelter, finding this huge monster of a dog, old and tired and ready to die alone as all the puppies around him get adopted, and promptly deciding _Yeah, I’ll take this one._ Probably rocking back and forth, impatient, as he waited for the documents to sign. Brushing his bangs off his forehead and smiling at the dog when he picked up the guide. Getting breathless and panting from trying to pull him until the dog realized there would be no way to out-stubborn him. Tony can see it very clearly, and it hits him like a punch, like lightning.

Steve says he’s going to get the cake, and Tony is in love.

He’s so, so, so in love, and for a moment he lets himself feel it, basks on it like he didn’t in a very long time, since he allowed himself to dream of baseball games.

And he realizes there’s a part of him that wants Steve to know, that he’s loved like that. That although Steve doesn’t feel the same, maybe he’d like to know someone loves him. Even if that someone is Tony.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Tony hears himself saying, and Steve turns to him, seeming surprised. “I’m just going to be direct, which really isn’t my usual M.O., so, you know, don’t expect much. I mean. Look, what I’m trying to say is that-“

“I know.” Steve interrupts. Tony opens his mouth to say something – probably _Wait, what_ – but he continues: “I thought that was what you wanted to talk. I’m sorry, I should’ve – should’ve gone straight to the point.”

“You – what?”

“I’m sorry.” He says, blue eyes staring into Tony’s intensely, which doesn’t distract him as much as it usually would, because his brain is too busy going _Wait, what._ “I should have said this earlier, but at the party… You left before I was able to think. Sam told me to text you, but I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me.” He takes a sharp breath. “Should’ve figured out I owed you a – a proper apology.”

“A proper _what?”_ Tony asks, because he’s pretty sure he’s just stepped into bizarro world or something. “What are you- no, wait, this is not – _I_ owe you an apology. We’re – we’re talking about the same thing, right? About the night before I got alcohol poisoning? When I got home wasted and you… Were there?”

Steve blushes and nods, but he’s got a frown on his face. Unfairly, he still looks pretty, even with such a weird expression. “Yes.”

“Ok. Ok. We’re still in the same dimension, that’s cool, that’s always nice to know, really.” Tony’s head is spinning, because now he really has no clue what’s going on, and he needs to get himself back on track. “That night. I need to apologize to you.”

“Tony,” Steve sounds completely startled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how I – how I jumped you!” Tony blurts out, his own cheeks heating, but now he can’t go back, he needs to do this. “That’s what I’m trying to say! It, it was creepy and inappropriate and I should never have done that. I’m… I’m really sorry.”

He risks a glance at Steve’s face and Steve just looks… Confused. But Tony grits his teeth and carries on, because he needs to get back on track to get to, you know, the second part of this apology.

“Look, you don’t have to answer. I just needed to say it, because I should have been honest with you from the beginning. I was a coward. And I need you to know that I wish could turn back time or something, and do it properly – I mean, not do _that_ again, but, like, in a different context, though, I guess, with similar intentions, but way less-“

“You didn’t _jump_ me.”

“I-What?”

“You didn’t jump me.” Steve repeats, his confused expression turning into something more like bafflement. “Tony, how - how much do you remember from that night?”

Tony blinks. “I remember everything. I got home, you were there, and I just… I lost it. I – I attacked you.”

“ _Attacked_ me?” Steve’s face is comically shocked. “Tony, you’re not making any sense.”

“Yes, I am!” Tony’s voice is louder now, because now _he’s_ confused, too, and damn, isn’t that supposed to be his moment of redemption? “I was coming back from Ty’s, I was totally wasted, and I turned around and I saw you there and I just-“

“You said I had showered.”

“I – _what?_ ”

“You looked at me and said “you showered”. And I said “yeah, sometimes it’s nice” and you laughed.” Steve continues. “You said – you said I was funny.”

Tony pauses. He doesn’t remember that part, but, still. He remembers everything _else_ very well. “Then I grabbed you.”

“You… Hugged me.” Steve says, opening a small smile. “You, hm. You said I smelled nice.”

Tony just stares at him.

“No, no, wait. I said a lot of other things, all that creepy shit…”

“Uh.” Steve frowns. “You didn’t? I mean, you were mumbling a lot of stuff, but I couldn’t really hear it. You. Uh. You were kind of nuzzling the top of my head. Then you started caressing my hair.” He shrugs, flush deepening. “It was nice.”

“Wait.” Tony says. “That’s not – I _pushed you against a wall!_ ”

“You didn’t _push_ me.” Steve sounds almost amused, in an incredulous way. “You were stumbling around, and you maneuvered us to the wall. I ended up with my back against it, but you didn’t push me.”

Tony’s brain is spinning, trying to grab onto memories that previously felt completely solid, but now that he examines closely, seem more blurred and hazy, more dreamlike than reality. “But.” He tries, then the clearest part comes to him. “I kissed you.”

Steve blushes bright red. “Yeah. You did.”

“You pushed me away. You didn’t – you were squirming the whole time, trying to get me off you!” Tony says, not sure of why he’s apparently arguing against himself.

“You tripped! I was trying to keep us from falling, and that was when it dawned on me how drunk you were. _Then_ I pushed you.”

Tony stays very, very still. “And that was when…”

“When you started to throw up. Yes.”

There’s a moment where the only sound comes from Bilbo, flopping happily on the floor next to Steve’s feet, clearly ready for naptime.

“Wait.” Tony says, slowly. “You said you wanted to apologize to me. What for?”

Steve’s eyes widen, and he stares at Tony as if he can’t believe what he’s asking.

“Because I _left_ you!” His face twists in a pained expression. “You… You could have died, Tony.” He says, voice heavy in a way Tony has never head before. “I should have stayed with you.”

“You put me in bed.” Tony says. He doesn’t remember that clearly, just flashes, but they’re certain, unclouded by any guilt or doubt. “You made me promise I was going to sleep. It wasn’t your fault I decided to keep drinking.”

“Still. If Rhodey hadn’t-“

“ _You_ called Rhodey. Even after I told you I’d be fine, you still made sure someone would check on me.”

“I told Rhodey to check on you _in the morning_.” Steve interrupts, and Tony notices his hands clenching nervously. “It was luck that he arrived early. If anything had happened, if he had been late for some reason…” He looks away, and Tony notices his hands shake a little. “I could’ve asked anyone to look after Bilbo for a night. I just…” He takes a sharp breath, blue eyes turning towards Tony, pained and nervous. “I didn’t want to be there when you realized what… What had happened. I thought – you were gonna regret it so much and I just… I couldn’t bear to hear it. I thought maybe if I went home, and you wanted to pretend it never happened, I’d have time to… Adjust.”

Tony feels as if something very heavy and wonderful hits him in the head.

“I had a problem, Steve. Something like that was bound to happen eventually.” His voice grows softer at every word, because of the way Steve looks at him, nervous and pained and hopeful and – damn it. “Is that – God, this is why I didn’t hear from you, isn’t it? After I got out?”

Steve shifts a little, though his posture seems a bit relieved. “Sam told me to call you. But I just couldn’t… I kept thinking about you on that apartment, alone.”

“You saved my life.” Tony says, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the fondness in his voice. Steve’s eyes widen, and suddenly Yinsen’s words – _something great and important_ – echo in his head. “Shit, Steve. Why would you ever think that was your fault?”

Steve shrugs, giving him a sheepish smile. “Why would you ever think you attacked me?”

Tony actually laughs. “God.” He says, running a hand over his face, gratified when Steve smiles back. “I need to get Yinsen a raise.” At Steve’s puzzled look, he adds: “A fri- My therapist. Well, a friend, too, I guess.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing with ex-addicts, we get used to – what?”

Steve’s eyes are wide, and he looks at Tony with something that makes his heart rush. “Nothing. Sorry, I just… I think it’s amazing, that you see a therapist. I mean.” His face flushes. “It’s… It’s really brave. I don’t think I’d be able to do that.”

For a moment, Tony wonders what would Steve talk about to a therapist. He’d like to know, he thinks. Then he realizes he wants to know everything there is to know about Steve, really, and for the first time he allows himself to just enjoy it.

“So.” Tony says, voice deliberately casual as he takes a step towards Steve. “You pushed me away because I was drunk.” Steve looks at him a bit shocked, but nods. “You know, I’m sober now. Very, very sober. Have a badge to prove it and everything.”

“That’s amazing.” Steve says, and although he definitely knows where this is going, he sounds honestly proud, and, God, Tony could get used to this.

“And you mentioned something about – what? Thinking I would regret it?”

Steve’s flush deepens, but he doesn’t look away, nodding. “I thought I had it under control. My… My feelings.” He adds at Tony’s puzzled look, and suddenly the room feels too small, too tight, for the size of Tony’s heart, that he’s pretty sure has just swelled massively on his chest.

“You are,” Tony starts, walking towards him, grinning so hard he thinks his face might split in two. “So _stupid._ ” He breathes, and Steve laughs – actually laughs, and Tony cups his face because he can’t resist not touching him anymore. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” Steve answers immediately, eyes bright and beautiful growing closer as Tony leans in, pressing their mouths together.

It’s like Tony’s whole body wakes up, suddenly. Steve’s lips are soft and warm and his mouth opens almost immediately for Tony’s tongue. He makes a humming noise, body going pliant, melting against Tony’s, and Tony smiles a little, gently angling Steve’s head to deepen the kiss slowly.

For a while they just stand there, kissing and kissing, Steve’s hands coming up to Tony’s hair, his long fingers caressing from the top of his hair to the back of his neck, sending delicious shivers down Tony’s spine. Tony’s a good kisser, he’s pretty sure of that, but kissing Steve feels new, magical, every touch of his lips an unique, special experience.

They pull apart when Bilbo starts bumping Steve’s leg, demanding his attention. Tony’s rests his forehead against Steve’s temple as he turns to shoo the dog away, enjoying the feeling of Steve’s body against his.

“Sorry.” Steve mutters, as he turns towards Tony again. His face is flushed and beautiful, and he _giggles_ like he can’t handle being so happy at once, and Tony just thinks: _I did this._

“Don’t be.” Tony whispers, leaning over and pressing a kiss on Steve’s cheek before turning back to his lips, just because he can.

**Author's Note:**

> Dub-con allusions: Tony thinks he got very aggressive with Steve when he was drunk. He remembers pushing him against the wall, taking advantage of their size different to hold him into place and saying a bunch of inappropriate/sexual things to him. None of it actually happened like that - Tony was just a clingy, loving drunk and he never threatened or scared Steve. They did kiss, but it was consensual and Steve stopped him before things got any further, due to Tony's wasted state.
> 
> Thanks for reading it! That was a weird one, but I had a lot of fun thinking of this universe. I might write something else with the stuff here, maybe? Let me know if you enjoyed it and if you would be interested in that. You can also reach me at my tumblr: [x](http://elcorhamletlive.tumblr.com/)


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